


Loud and Clear

by Ultramarine316



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Exhibitionism, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Smut, Switch Aziraphale (Good Omens), Switch Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultramarine316/pseuds/Ultramarine316
Summary: After the Armageddidn’t, Hell chooses a very inopportune time to contact Crowley through his TV. Aziraphale takes the opportunity to demonstrate that he is the only entity who gets to give Crowley orders now…by fucking his brains out in front of a, frankly, horrified emissary of Hell.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 257





	Loud and Clear

“I like this Beatrice,” Crowley said, but undercut his assertion with a gaping yawn.

Aziraphale only responded with a soft hum and began rubbing circles in the demon’s back. He didn’t think the production of Much Ado About Nothing they were watching was anything very special. It didn’t break into the top ten for versions of it they had watched together over the years anyway, but it didn’t matter. They were in Crowley’s apartment, the lights turned down and the air conditioner turned up. Crowley’s leather couch was actually quite comfortable, now that it was covered with a pile of Aziraphale’s blankets and pillows. They had just finished a satisfying dinner of Japanese takeout and they were only half way through a nice bottle of wine and if the movie that Aziraphale suggested didn’t end up holding his interest, he could think of other ways to entertain himself.

Crowley melted under Aziraphale’s hands. The demon had felt like a puppet with its strings cut since the failed apocalypse, only in a nice way, if that were possible. Ever since they had cut ties with their respective sides, he felt loose and relaxed in a way he had never experienced before. He had fancied himself so well adapted to his position that the stress of working for the kind of taskmasters he had didn’t affect him. Now he knew that he only hadn’t allowed himself to fully admit to himself how badly the pressure affected him and once it was removed, the sense of relief was all consuming. Maybe he was less like a puppet with cut strings and more like a balloon. There was no telling how high he might float, if things kept up like this.

Aziraphale stopped rubbing circles over Crowley’s shirt and slid his hand beneath it instead, delighting in his beloved’s silky skin. He buried his nose in Crowley’s hair and almost moaned in pleasure at the smell. He pulled Crowley further onto himself, as if he were a blanket and pressed the demon’s mouth to his own. The wine warming him from within and his own angel from without, Crowley felt gloriously, blessedly, helpless. He only moved one hand to stabilize himself against the couch as he sank deep into the kiss but otherwise allowed Aziraphale to take full control of his body. The angel’s hands roamed freely, helping themselves to whatever they wanted as if the demon’s body was his own private dessert cart. He slid Crowley’s shirt up and up to reveal more of his chest and back. He squeezed Crowley’s ass through his ridiculously tight jeans and was pleased to find them grow tighter still.

“Darling, take your shirt of,” Aziraphale commanded and rewarded his demon for obeying promptly by pulling him tight against his own body and dripping honeyed words into his ear. “Gorgeous. You are my world, darling. My everything.”

Crowley squirmed involuntarily and hid his face in Aziraphale’s neck. “Grk, Angel…”

“What’s wrong my love? Don’t you know that you are the stars in my sky? You are more precious to me than Heaven itself. That is not a sweet nothing, darling, you know now that you quite literally are. Now, will you remove these accursed jeans and let me have you?”

“Impatient Angel,” Crowley snickered but complied, withdrawing from Aziraphale just enough to undo his belt and slide the pants down around his knees. “Can’t resist doing me right on the couch, huh? Can’t say I blame you.”

“Mmm, if that’s what you want, my dear,” Aziraphale drew Crowley back to him, the better to nuzzle at his ear and neck. “Is that what you want? For me to _do_ you?”

“Hnnn!”

That was the sound of Aziraphale squeezing Crowley’s ass again and bringing his now bare erection into somewhat forceful contact Aziraphale’s still modestly attired one.

“Hmmm?” Aziraphale’s exquisitely manicured hand ghosted along the delectate skin of Crowley’s inner thighs and higher to where his legs met. Crowley tried to shift into the angel’s touch and found that he was partially constrained by the trouser legs still bunched at his knees. “Well? Is that what you want, my dear?”

While one hand continued to softly tease everything revealed by the partial removal of Crowley’s jeans, the other hand oh so gently tangled in the hair at the back of Crowley’s head and drew him into another sweet kiss. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and kissed back for all he was worth and they remained locked together for several long minutes as Aziraphale’s touches gradually grew from feather light to something a little more insistent. It was maddening and when a finger brushed against his entrance, Crowley broke the kiss with a whine.

“For the love of—Angel, why are you still wearing so much blessed clothing?”

Aziraphale chuckled but withdrew enough to remove his jumper. Crowley took the opportunity to sit up and free himself from his traitorous jeans. Aziraphale got up from the couch, folded his jumper, and set it down on a chair, but then instead of continuing to remove his clothes, he walked right out of the room. Crowley huffed and, after a moment, started to get up to follow him to the bedroom, but the Angel soon returned with a small bottle of lube. Crowley sank back onto the couch and draped himself into a seductive pose, not that Aziraphale needed any encouragement.

The angel, still quite clothed, climbed on top of Crowley and helped himself to his mouth and body and silky hair again, only this time the sensation of a slick finger sliding into him was added to the list of sensations that were starting to drive Crowley mad.

“Angel, please,” the demon gasped but Aziraphale wouldn’t be rushed and took his time working Crowley open.

“Please what, dear? What do you want me to do?” But Crowley only writhed against him, so he kept up his gentle work. He waited until Crowley was thoroughly ready for him but still he had no real reply, so he stood up once more and very slowly and carefully began to remove his clothing, folding and gently setting down each piece until he was nude. But even then, he only sat down on the couch, about the distance you would sit from someone who you were going to chastely watch a movie with and not the distance you would sit from someone you were about to pounce on.

“Angel! For the love of somebody!”

Aziraphale made a quizzical noise as if he didn’t know what Crowley was asking of him and actually turned his head and pretended to be interested in the movie again. It had arrived at the disastrous wedding scene, where Claudio would cruelly reject poor Hero, having swallowed lies about her infidelity.

“You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?” The friar on screen asked.

“No.”

“To _be married to_ her; friar, _you_ come to marry her,” the bride’s father offered the only explanation for the negative response he could think of and laughed nervously.

“Lady, you come hither to be married to this count?”

But instead of replying that she did, Hero turned to the camera and addressed Crowley, her face and voice distorting in a startling way.

“I suppose you thought you wouldn’t be hearing from me again Crawley,” said the virtuous maiden with the melting face.

Aziraphale whipped his head from the screen to where Crowley sat on the couch. His love seemed to be desperately trying to form some sort of response, but only small, guttural sounds escaped his throat.

“You are in luck, Crawley,” the demon speaking from the screen continued. “It has been decided that we will grant you one last chance to redeem yourself. Swear fealty to Hell once more and resume your work and we will…well, not ‘forgive’ past transgression…but we shall say nothing more about them.”

Aziraphale felt almost as stunned as Crowley looked. What the devil did they think they were playing at, intruding on Crowley at home, at all hours of the night, and issuing such ludicrous demands?

They would grant him one last chance to work for them? As if that was something anyone was clambering to do? As if Crowley had not been out of his body with joy when he was finally clear of that lot. As if they had not attempted to actually execute Crowley by holy water bath when he attempted to leave! Aziraphale felt himself shudder at the memory.

And they really thought that after all that they could, what, threaten? Cajole? Bluff? Crowley into coming back? These were the methods, intruding unexpectedly with their vague threats, that they had used for millennia to control Crowley and they were also they only methods their rather limited imaginations could conceive of, but still! The absolute gaul of thinking they could snap their fingers at him and pretend that they were still in charge simply because that’s how things had always been…well, it was really more something his people would try. Except he didn’t have people anymore and neither did Crowley. They only had each other to rely on and Aziraphale would certainly protect Crowley from this.

“Actually, I think you had better go. At once,” Aziraphale leaned forward into the glow of the television, making himself visible for the first time, in the darkened room. The vile creature on screen looked surprised at the unanticipated audience, which pleased and emboldened Aziraphale. “Crowley does not belong to you anymore. In fact, he never did really.”

The face on the screen snarled at him, becoming an even more ghastly sight. “Of course he does! He is a demon! He belongs to Hell!”

Aziraphale leaned into Crowley and gathered him as close as he could. Crowley started at the contact and looked up quickly but relaxed at once upon finding himself looking into Aziraphale’s face.

“It’s not true,” Aziraphale soothed. “How could you belong to Hell when you already belong to me?”

Crowley kissed him and a couple things happened all at once. Aziraphale’s erection throbbed, reminding him that it was still very much present, and Crowley gave a, perhaps involuntary or perhaps voluntary, roll of his hips, reminding them both that Crowley’s wet and very ready entrance was also still very much present.

The thing on screen began to growl out something else, but Aziraphale was too busy looking into Crowley’s eyes and finding only desire and invitation. He slid in, in one long, careful push, withdrew halfway, and then drove in to the hilt.

Crowley moaned and the figure on screen stopped speaking.

“Who do you work for?” Aziraphale asked, sliding in and out slowly a few more times before establishing a steady rhythm.

“Mmm, Angel, oh, Angel, just like that!”

“Tell them who you work for.”

“You. Just you Angel.”

“Do you belong to them?”

“No,” Crowley laughed and threw his head back.

“No, of course you don’t,” Aziraphale increased his speed. “Who do you belong to?”

“You, Angel…”

“Well, tell them that.”

“Ahh, harder, please!” Crowley begged and Aziraphale complied.

“Tell them,” Aziraphale panted, “who you belong to.”

“Ahh! I belong to you!”

“Not me, tell them.”

“I belong to Aziraphale! Fuck! I’m his! Oh! Oh fuck! I’ve always been his! He’s the only one- ah! The only one! Oh my—fuck, you can’t possibly understand how good he is and how entirely his I am and how badly I need-- You can’t even imagine...”

Aziraphale felt a hot flush throughout his body. Was it embarrassment or pride? He couldn’t tell. He only knew that whatever it was, he was very close.

“And are you ever going to take orders from the likes of them ever again?”

“No, I—Ahhhhh! Ahhh!”

“Who are you going to take orders from?” Aziraphale leaned forward and bit the demon’s neck.

“I—you! Whatever you want Angel….please.”

“I order you to come for me, right now,” Aziraphale whispered in Crowley’s ear as he grabbed his penis and pumped. Crowley obeyed with a loud cry and, clenching around Aziraphale, dragged him down with him.

There was a shriek of rage from the TV and, on screen, Hero fainted to the ground as if dead, a delicate and virginal young woman once again. “Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?” cried her aggrieved father, while the angel and demon panted into each other’s shoulders.

“I—ha—I’m,” Aziraphale panted. “Are you OK? I’m sorry, I—”

“I’m fine Angel! That was…I mean…you really showed them.”

“Well, serves them right,” Aziraphale gathered Crowley to him once more and held him close. He let his chin rest on Crowley’s hair while he stroked the demon’s soft locks. “I don’t think they’re going to work up the courage to contact you for quite a while,” murmured the angel.

“I think you’re right about that. Only…you don’t…you don’t suppose _your_ people might try something similar at some point?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shirked, suddenly finding himself on his back, Crowley peppering his neck with kisses.

“Only, I think we should practice, in case we ever have to make a demonstration for them. You just pretend that Benedick there is Gabriel and you go ahead and tell him how much you like it when I do _this_.”


End file.
